


Witches and Werewolves

by Feather Light (mgm024)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Copious Amounts Of Swearing, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Romance, Smut, Violence, Were-Creatures, Witch Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgm024/pseuds/Feather%20Light
Summary: Stiles is a fugitive witch who's survived most of his life on his own. Derek is second in command of the local werewolf pack.The pack doesn't take well to strange supes encroaching on their territory. Or do they?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> I'll be honest, this is my first time both writing this pair and in this fandom so I really hope I'm going to do them justice. Stiles is going to be a bit of a badass because, let's be honest, who doesn't like a badass Stiles and Derek... Derek pretty much doesn't stand a chance! *evil cackle
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this, don't be stingy with the love and if you could take the time and leave a comment with what you think, I would really, really appreciate the feedback! 
> 
> xoxo

I knew I was about to have a crappy day when Heidi, our near-sighted, senile cleaning lady told me I looked like shit. She was sweeping the stairs between the fourth and fifth floors, with a cigarette between her lips. Heidi's standards were pretty low on the best of days.

She was born in the '40s and grew up thinking ladies only crossed their feet at the ankles and didn’t go outside without proper make-up. She married a cop and smiled in the face of a future filled with sunny days and laughing children right up until he got caught dealing drugs. He cut a deal with the feds for giving up some bigger fish and got his sentence reduced to three years. Nothing was ever the same for Heidi. He ended up enjoying to beat her up almost as much as he enjoyed snorting crack.

You could sometimes still catch the weary look cast from the corner of her eyes and the hunched in set of her shoulders that is the signature of abuse victims. The bastard was hit by a car one rainy night and left for dead in the street and there were those who thought it had been Heidi's brother who did it. Nothing was ever proved, nor said brother found. She never managed to get her life back together, which happens more often than not, despite what Hollywood wants to make you believe.

Seeing her first thing in the morning never did anything good for my mood. She reminded me of too many things I’d rather just forget about.

“Thanks, Heidi. You're a doll.”

She gave me a toothless grin while grabbing the cigarette with two delicate fingers and exhaling the smoke. It was the little details that always hit you about Heidi, like the grace of her wrists, remnants of a better life, despite the fact that her nails were dirty and as broken as the rest of her body.

“I know darling, if you weren't so queer I'd do you for free, Stiles.”

Heidi insists I'm gay because I dress a certain way, but the truth is I'm not, not really. And it's not because I like women over men, I happen to appreciate both equally, it's just that I happen to find trust and intimacy a prerequisite to sex and to say that that’s hard to come by, at least in my world, is putting it mildly. I don’t do casual. Never have, don’t think I ever will and that pretty much guarantees my sex life is... as barren as the fucking Sahara. But let’s not get maudlin. I suppose there's a bunch of things wrong with my life, but my sex drive or lack thereof isn’t even in the top five.

I'm sure there are many scientific explanations and psychological terms for all my little 'quirks' but considering my past... actually, you know what? No. Let's not consider my past. Way too fucking early for that, I haven't had coffee in a week because my stomach decided it was bad for us, and I really want to get through my morning without hitting anyone in the face.

“You say the nicest things, babe. I'm going to go grab something to eat and head of to work.”

Heidi hummed, took out the cigarette and squashed it with her foot, then swept it with the rest of the papers, broken glass, tinfoil and used needles littering the hallways of our oh, so very respectable apartment building. Read dump. It didn’t bother me that the paint on the walls was scorched, or that mold grew as freely as grass in a sunny meadow, or that the water pressure was less than desirable most of the week. I had managed to clean my small one bedroom enough to live comfortably and the place afforded the kind of security money couldn’t buy. When you've been hiding in plain sight for as many years as I have you learn to appreciate the benefits of bad neighbourhoods.

Work, or to be more precise my part time day job, consisted of unloading vegetable cases twice a week for a small store owned by a jewish family. I did it for the exercise and for the chance it gives me to socialize and keep in touch with local gossip. If you don't think it's imperative for people to like you, you've obviously never lived on the streets. Be grateful for that.

I made my way down to the store and tried not to think about what I had to do later in the evening. It would be almost midnight by the time I was finished and the one thing I hated was to be caught out in the open after dark. It's when the things that go bump in the night come out to play and me... I really, really didn't feel like playing. In fact, I had been doing my best to avoid any sort of contact with any elements from my former life, which is the whole point of turning fugitive in the first place, thanks.

You see, I was born a witch. Well, warlock if you want to be specific, but whatever. Semantics. I come from a very long line of witches and I was raised in a coven. And if you think Wiccans when I say coven, you should think again. Real witches, at least the ones I grew up with, are anything but new age hippies who like to play with crystals. They’re dark, vicious, hostile and most importantly, _not human_.

They also happen to be very traditional, very secretive and do not take well to one of their own living among good old homo-sapiens. It's considered stupid, dangerous for the individual as well as for the entire species and generally a big no-no... I might be tempted to say that the concern is born from unconditional parental love, but I would be lying. There was a very real danger that, were I to be found, I'd have to face an honor guard and being gruesomely executed, quite possibly by my own extended family was in my top ten most unpleasant ways to die.

The reason I would be out tonight was some guy who owed Hairy Tony money and who had made himself a little too scarce for Tony’s peace of mind. Hairy Tony was one of the better pimps working in and around the eastern sector of Clarings, the neighborhood I lived in, and I owed him a favor. I hate owing favors. It should have been a simple job of track him, corner him, scare the shit out of him a little and then go home to watch the rerun of Friends but it's always the easy marks who turn out to be the most trouble, right? I have to tell you, I don’t normally do this sort of shit. My full time job and the one actually supporting me is bartending. The pay is ok, but it's the tips that make all the difference and compared to other jobs I'd had, this one was perfect.

I left the store after lunch and spent the rest of the day walking around and checking in on a few people, then made a couple of calls to cast the net for my mark. The last I'd heard he was hanging around some sleazy diner up on Glass Street and after a few roundabout inquires, it seemed he was still there. Oh, goody. I took a shower, got dressed, accessorized with some metal courtesy of Heckler and Koch and headed out.

Everything went according to plan for a while, but then I noticed that Hank, that was his name, Hank, he had somehow managed to get a heads up that I was coming and had called a couple of buddies. I don't know who tipped him off and I never found out. What I did register was that they were big, they were tall and they had way more knives than anyone should posses while keeping a straight face. And then the shit hit the fan.

I'd like to tell you that my biggest problem that night were the three stooges blocking my exit out of the alley, but the truth is all they did was start a chain of events that managed to turn my life on its fucking head and show me that the creepy crawlies I was trying to avoid were a lot more numerous and a lot more varied than I had originally thought and that no... they did not only come out to play at night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, I'm going to borrow shamelessly from a number of other fandoms because... I can. Hahaha! But really, I've read so many vampires/werewolves/magic books that I won't even pretend to remember where all this lore is coming from. It doesn't mean this is a cross-over. Just... a few sprinkles of stuff here and there that aren't necessarily from Teen Wolf.
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoy the read, do let me know what you think and oh, boy, oh, boy, in the chapter after this one a certain blue eyed werewolf makes an appearance! Hello, gorgeous :)))))

The clearest image I have of that day is the running. Running like I never ran in my life. After a while it makes your head spin and your lungs burn and a metallic taste develop in the back of your throat. To this day, I fucking hate running.

I don’t know how I managed to keep a cool enough head to grab some clothes, a backpack and the house warding amulet before I took off, it’s all in a haze now. But I somehow made it through the thick forest and after more than half a day I somehow got to a Greyhound station. You should know that escaping from a heavily warded, extremely secluded witch coven is no small feet and I was only twelve at the time.

For some unfathomable reason the first thing that popped into my mind while I was looking at all the names of the cities on the list of departures was Alice Cooper's voice singing - _'New York is waiting for you and me, baby, waiting to swallow us down,_ _New York, we're coming to see what you're made of…'._ Joseph, the gardener, used to listen to rock stations in the servants quarters from time to time and since it was the only place in the house where I had a chance to hear anything except classical music, I hid there as often as possible.

So, New York was waiting... I barely had enough cash to cover the fare. It's amazing how the smallest thing ends up deciding the course of your life sometimes.

The whole time during the ride I kept expecting for the bus to be pulled over and for one of the Knechten to haul me back by the scruff of the neck or something similarly terrifying. No one came. Of course, I had the amulet with me and it was blood warded. They wouldn’t be able to find me with magic as long as I had it. That didn’t mean they couldn’t look for me the old fashioned way.

In case you were wondering, Knechten are servants who work for my kind. And when I say servants I really mean slaves. They’re not employed and with a union membership, they’re blood-oathed for life, with a 24 hour workday and indoctrinated to love it. To be proud of it. To give their lives for the family they serve without a second thought. Witches are rather big on the whole blood oathing thing. Manipulative fucking bastards.

Anyway. I was relieved beyond measure to step down from the bus and discover... freedom? I was in the infamous world of humans. Alone. The dangerous, chaotic, highly uncivilized world of humans. To hear a witch talk, they were just a little higher on the evolutionary ladder than rats. And I was right in the middle of them, all on my own. I slept on a park bench for the very first time that afternoon and I woke up frightened out of my mind. As you can imagine, I’d never been outside the coven before in my life.

You might be wondering what made me so adamant to leave the only life I’d ever known. Well, to put it simply, it was fear. But we’ll get to that part some other time. Suffice it to say I was a lot smarter than they gave me credit for, even though they did give me credit enough, and I suddenly found myself in an untenable situation. So I took off.

Now, as fucked up as my home life was, I never lacked anything material growing up. Quite the contrary. You'd be surprised to hear that I was actually born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth, however fucking nasty the shit in it turned out to be. So finding myself with no money, no food, nowhere to go and a gnawing feeling that maybe, just maybe I hadn't planned as far ahead as I should have... not exactly fun. But fuck it, I was twelve. What the fuck did I know back then? I could speak at length about the particulars of zombie raising rituals, I could read and write in Greek, Arabic, ancient Urdu and Hindustani but I had no idea who the current president of the United States was or what a supermarket was. The wonders of coven home schooling.

I wondered around the neighborhood taking things in, watching people, mesmerized and a little awed by how... many they were. I tried to look as inconspicuous as possible and the second time I slept on a bench turned out to be decidedly less than enchanting. The next day I was so hungry I was getting dizzy and I decided that the only options were steal, beg or go through garbage. It took me about an hour to find half a bagel that wasn't covered in grime and I tried not to cry all the way through eating it.

The first few weeks I think I lost a third of my body weight and trust me, it wasn't much to begin with. I ended up in the system, of course. After a while. I spent some time in a couple of foster homes, ran away, spent some more time on the streets, then foster care again. It wasn’t the happiest of times.

I stopped crying when I ate out of the garbage. I got used to it. You'd be surprised how many things you can get used to in order to survive. Surprised and disgusted, most likely, but that's ok. Most of them disgust me too.

You think you have morals and you think you have standards and you think there are things you'd never, ever do, no matter what but... life turns out to be a little less black and white. At first it was stubbornness and a weird misplaced sense of pride that kept me going, then it was just the stubbornness and in time it just ended up being about survival and making it for one more day. No long term plans. Just make it past the next few hours. Just keep breathing, keep going, don't stop. Most of the time I didn't even know why I bothered, it wasn't like I was going to make it past my twenties anyway.

But I digress. It was probably the hunger and exhaustion catching up with me that night that made me wax poetic about where life had taken me, the compromises I’d made and how much of a person's dignity can be stripped away from them before they even realize it’s happening. But I _had_ been lying in a puddle of my own bodily fluids with no other company except rats for a while, so... I blame it on that... That and the cold...

Also the blood loss...

It took me a while but I managed to drag myself a little more into the shadow of the dumpster sitting by the wall of the building and out of direct sight from the street. One thing you do not want to be on the streets is unconscious, especially in neighborhoods where not many people know you. I really didn’t want to be robbed right before the fat lady sang. I don't know why the idea of dying naked sounded so horrible to me, it's not like a dead man cares whether it's wearing clothes or not but for some reason, it did.

I didn't even try to roll over or get up, what was the fucking point anyway? I had nowhere better to go and I was even starting to get used to the cold. I should’ve realized that wasn’t a good sign. I’m pretty sure the pavement wasn’t getting any warmer, but I couldn’t seem to muster the energy to care… Hypothermia will do that to you.

The three fucking stooges had got me good and what pissed me off the most was the bastards had cheated me out of a good three more years of living. It wasn't perfect living, not even close, but they were _my_ three years, God dammit, and I wanted them.

The concrete beneath my cheek was rough, digging into my skin and the alley reeked of urine and garbage… I could clearly see a rat scurrying a few feet away, looking curiously at me. It was probably thinking how incredibly stupid it was to get myself stabbed and end up dying in some filthy back alley… Then again maybe it was just thinking about how good I was gonna taste once it could get its tiny little teeth into my belly. Ugh… bad thought.

I tried glaring at it but it didn’t seem phased. Fucker. The sound of footsteps interrupted our staring contest and jostled me into a more coherent state of consciousness.

The footsteps were getting closer and I could tell whoever it was, was wearing heels. When she came close enough for me to notice they were a very nice pair of Jimmy Choos I realized I hadn’t seen a pair this close since I’d left home and it seemed sort of ironic that they be the last image on my retina before hitting the bucket.

Have I mentioned I'd lost a lot of blood?

“Oh crap, you’re alive…” the woman said, turning me over slowly.

Not the precise expletive I would've used, but whatever, the woman was entitled to her opinion. I would’ve also protested being moved, since it fucking hurt, but all I managed was a grunt. I was seeing the most fascinating colors and shapes in front of my eyes and was just about to start closing them and take a little nap away from all the excitement when her voice brought me back.

“Well, that looks nasty…” she said, taking a closer look at my belly. “Stings like a bitch and it takes forever to die from...”

Stings? Stings?! Lady, I was _stabbed_. It fucking more that stings!

She put a hand on my forehead and checked my pupils and God, she was so warm… I closed my eyes for a second, concentrating on the bit of her skin touching me and sensing her perfume which was intoxicating and wonderful. I got a good look at her and she had long dark hair, the kind of golden skin professional fake tans try to emulate and never really manage, a long delicate nose and soft brown eyes. The more I stared into them the more I realized there was something not quite right about them... not quite human, but before my brain had a chance to elaborate she flipped a cell phone open and dialed.

“Peter, I’m a block from the house and some... thing is making me a little nervous.”

Thing?

“I'm not sure... honestly. It sort of smells like a witch, but not really. Plus it looks young and it's been stabbed. I smelled it a block away too, which means... yeah, exactly. What do you want me to do?”

You know, I've been called a lot of shit in my life and a “thing” was far from the most offensive of them, but she knew what witches were? And she had _smelled_ me from a block away?

“Listen, listen… Peter. Calm down. He’s like… a kid. … yes... u-hum... yes, I _know_...”

Somehow, I wasn’t getting the 'let's rush you to the hospital' vibes. I felt my breath quickening, leaving my mouth in short, desperate gasps.

“Who are you?” I croaked pitifully, barely above a whisper, because every word was causing my vision to go white on the edges and technicolor rainbow in the middle. She shooshed me and got up, moving a little farther away... Damn it. I hate it when people do that.

“Hey...” I tried yelling at her.

“No, I don’t think that’s the case, if somebody from around here was looking for him, they would’ve found him by now…”

I tried getting up, the adrenaline giving me a little extra strength, but as soon as I managed to sit up she was suddenly next to me again, pushing me back down casually and holding me there. Damn, I hadn't even seen her move... I was getting a really bad feeling about all of this. I tried getting her forearm off my chest, but either she was stronger that I would’ve guessed or I was weaker than I thought I was, because it was like trying to push a ton of bricks. The effort made the blood start flowing out of me even faster, I could feel it on my side and I was starting to have problems breathing and keeping my eyes focused.

Fuck. _S_ _o_ not the time to pass out…

“And if we do, what happens when somebody comes looking for him and whatever killed him? How's that gonna go?… Witches can track bodies too, no matter how well we clean the alley. Yes, I know the law... Fuck it, Peter, we don't need some pissed off coven on our asses on top of all the other... Fine, send Derek... _Fine_.”

Hearing her talk casually about killing me kinda put a dent in my initial opinion of her. I mean yeah, I had been ready to die peacefully, or at least resignedly about three minutes before, sure, but her assuming it was a given fact and nothing more than a small hitch in her evening plans for dinner really pissed me off. Now I wanted to stay alive just to fucking spite her. I might have not been much of a threat right then but at least I'd go down fighting. I bet I could have at least done a thorough job of bleeding on those pretty, patent leather pumps of hers... that'd piss her off for sure.

She hung up and looked at me. “If you don't stop moving, you're gonna bleed out sooner and I have nothing on me to help you.”

“Help me what? Bleed out sooner?” I snapped.

“Funny. I'm not going to snap you skinny little neck, if that's what you’re worried about.” she said in a disgusted voice “But that doesn't mean this nasty cut won't kill you...”

“What the fuck do you want?” I asked.

That somehow seemed more important right now that who she was.

“With you? I don't know yet. We'll see...” she answered sweetly.

She was rummaging through her bag and I used the time to successfully sit up again, trying to ignore the little stars I saw everywhere and Christ, was it morning already? The light was killing my eyes... I grunted and fell back down with a thud, the breath leaving my lungs in a rush, making my head feel like it was being pounded into the wall repeatedly in rhythm with my pulse. Ok, getting up wasn't such a good idea... I really don't like repeating myself but I'm so...

“You're really stubborn _besides_ being stupid, aren't you?” she said offhandedly.

Fuck, was she reading my mind? I got another wave of panic running through me but even that wasn't enough to convince my poor abused body that it wasn't in our best interest to pass out, and then everything went black.

 

 


End file.
